#vincent renzi fanfiction

[euphoriaslux]

we can’t be friends

summary: you hate vincent. vincent hates you. and yet somehow you end up in his bedroom.

word count: 4262( i… am so sorry.)

warnings: fem reader, smut(f oral receiving) vincent being a meanie, drinking and smoking, disrespect of the french justice system (désolé) me making head canons about vincent’s family life, some mischaracterization of sandra (ily sandra huller)

a/n: folks i was locked in when i was writing this, can you tell because it’s autocapitalized? i was Serious! this was supposed to be like a thousand words and ended up being 4k… i apologize i have to spread my illness (being my obsession with swann). i had SO much fun writing this i hope yall enjoy, all the reblogs on my first post make me all warm and fuzzy. drop some requests if you’d like, and im going to make a masterpost of all the fictional characters im obsessed with bc i’m chronically online. i’ve reread this like a million times so if there are any spelling errors i simply do not see. enjoy!!! <3

You cannot fucking believe you’re going to be late to trial.

Well, actually, you can believe it. Somehow, during the two hours of sleep you got last night, you managed to unplug both your alarm clock and your phone charger, leaving you to blissfully sleep through the multiple alarms you had set the night before. It was only when your cat sprawled across your face, her paws tickling your eyelashes as she eagerly awaited her breakfast, that your body decided to wake you up. An hour after you were supposed to.

Your methodically planned out morning routine for the indictment today was quickly replaced by you sprinting around your apartment muttering curse words under your breath and trying not to trip over the copious amounts of documents on your floor. You nearly cried when your tangled hair would not cooperate with you, but somehow managed to make yourself look halfway presentable. You didn’t have the time to be stressed today, especially because of the attention you know this case is going to get.

And because you knew you were going to see him.

After driving like a bat out of hell in the Parisian rain, violating multiple traffic laws, you somehow make it to the courthouse only one minute late. Jogging up the steps, you push the door open and yell out apologies to the bewildered lawyers and judges in the courthouse as you sprint against the browned hardwood floor, your briefcase thumping against your side in tandem with your heartbeat. Your eyes scan the chamber numbers and you breathe a sigh of relief once you find the one that matched the summons notice, pausing to smooth down your pantsuit set and pat the beads of sweat off of your forehead.

You push open the chamber doors as gently as you can, but you quickly realize there is no use as every head in the room turns towards you, gawking at you. Some have a slight frown on their face, looking at you with thinly veiled pity, but most have a clear show of annoyance. With your head down you speedwalk over to your team’s side of the chambers, pulling out a few labeled folders before you place your briefcase next to your seat. You take a deep breath and force yourself to look up, and right across from you is the defendant’s lawyer.

Vincent is wearing a black turtleneck and a matching black blazer, with effortlessly swooped gray hair and his arms crossed over his chest. He looks perfect, too perfect, in a way that pisses you off. He’s already staring at you when you glance at him, his mouth slightly turned upward as he leans over to talk to his client Sandra, maintining eye contact with you as his whispers in her ear.

“Glad you made time to join us Mademoiselle,” the judge says as she shuffles some papers around, using a few fingers to wave over a magistrate to her right, ostensibly for the indictment sheets.

“I am so, so sorry I-” you start before the judge moves her hand to wave you off, finally sparing you a sharp glance.

“Enough time has been wasted. Let us proceed, yes?” she asks, and you almost start to answer before you realize it was rhetorical. There are a few quiet laughs in the courtroom and you fix your eyes on your folder, feeling like a child who was just scolded in class for sneaking a cookie from the lunchroom. You feel Vincent’s eyes on you but you don’t dare to look up. You won’t give him the satisfaction.

Sandra was indicted, of course. This case was going to be a media circus because of her literary career, and you knew this was not going to be an open-and-shut case. Part of you hated trials like these - when the media would decide an angle that they found the most titillating and not leave a single person involved alone until they got a headline that matched their narrative. Another part of you, a massive part of you, hated working with Vincent. You could just constantly feel the smugness dripping off of him, and with every snarky comment and reply you could sense the anger just drilling deeper and deeper into you. Each interaction you had with him managed to make you even more and more mad. At least you’d hopefully only see him for another couple of months.

five months later

Like clockwork, you stepped out of your taxi to be bombarded by reporters with an endless sea of microphones and cameras, a cacophony of aggressive voices yelling your way. You keep your head down and try to push through the crowd, noticing Vincent talking to a reporter with Sandra to his side. You hear a few words, noticeably about Sandra’s innocence and the ignorance of the defense, and that word makes you stop in your tracks. Reporters are asking you questions but you look for the first microphone you can find and start to talk, making sure to project your voice.

“Judicial integrity is what’s most important to me. Not a narrative, not a story. I took an oath to protect this country. Some people don’t take that seriously, but I do, and that’s what I am focused on.”

There is a sea of follow-up questions but you weave through the hoard of people to the top steps of the courtroom, making your way inside. You arrived a bit early to trial today because you knew Daniel, Sandra’s son, was testifying today. You couldn’t shake the unease you’d had all week knowing you had to cross-examine him, seeing his grief-stricken face as he heard the prosecution and defense make a myriad of accusations about the one parent he had left.

“Were you talking about me?”

Vincent’s voice makes you jump, and you turn around to see him staring at you from behind the court pew. You must’ve had a look of confusion on your face because he then clarifies:

“Outside, when you were talking to the reporter from Euronews. Are you implying that I don’t have judicial integrity?” he cocks his head at you, his eyebrows slightly raised. You shrug, grabbing the manila folders with notes from your bag and putting them in front of your seat.

“If the shoe fits, I suppose,” you say with a tight smile as you sling your bag from your shoulder to under your chair. Vincent scoffs, lightly brushing his hair out of his face.

“Right, I should have looked to the attorney who walks in late smelling like cheap wine for… integrity,” he emphasizes that last word, each letter feeling incredibly loud in the silent courtroom. You feel the heat rise from the back of your neck, both in embarrassment and fury. You take a step towards him and he doesn’t move, your faces only a few inches apart.

“Do you think you’re any better? You took this case because you are plagued with this superiority complex that you have to subject everyone to.”

“Hm, so being a good lawyer makes you think I have a superiority complex, good to know,” Vincent says, touching his chin in mock curiosity. Jesus Christ, this guy irritates you.

“No actually, I think I figured it out,” you say with a laugh, poking your finger at his chest.

“Is it because you used to fuck Sandra, and this is some weird fucked up sort of foreplay that you’re forcing us to watch? I wonder if there’s a tape in evidence, of Sandra telling her now-dead husband how many times you two had shitty sex.”

Your sentence sits in the air as the smirk falls from Vincent’s face.

“Do not project whatever bullshit you’ve created in your mind onto me,” he says, staring at you with an intensity that makes you start to squirm.

“You don’t know me, Vincent,” you turn to end the conversation but Vincent grabs your arm, turning you back around to look at him.

“But I think I do,” he says, and you are so close that you can make out the pack of cigarettes in his jean pocket through his cloak is what’s pressing against your thigh.

“I think you put on this show, that you are meek and timid, but it is all an act. Every movement of yours is calculated. Nothing you do has any underpinning of integrity.”

You feel tears well in your eyes and you quickly wipe them away, opening your mouth to speak as the chamber doors open and members of the jury begin to walk in.

“Fuck you,” you tear your arm away from his grip and walk back to your seat.

four months later

It’s been two weeks since the trial ended. The chaotic hustle and attention has died and reporters are gone, with no more requests for comment or interviews on morning TV filling up your inbox. You were called to the courthouse to go over some documentation that the court needed to provide a final report on the case, arriving late on a Saturday night. You shudder as you get out of the taxi, the chill of Paris air sparing no part of your body. You wrap your jacket around yourself and sit on the sidewalk, taking a deep breath as you prepare to go into that same courtroom. You put your head in your hands and sit in silence for what feels like forever until a familiar voice breaks the stillness.

“Hey.”

You don’t move a muscle when you hear Vincent’s voice, hoping that somehow if you stayed completely still he’d believe you were a figment of his imagination and he’d leave you alone. Instead, he takes a seat next to you, the corduroy fabric of his trousers very gently grazing your skirt.

“If you’ve come to gloat, I’m truly not in the mood,” your say, your voice muffled by your hands over your mouth. Vincent says nothing but you hear him rustling through his pants and then the familiar click of a lighter, and you bring your face up to see Vincent taking a drag of a cigarette. He breathes out wafts of smoke, and after a beat, extends his hand towards you. You glance down at the cigarette and then back at him, and he is still looking forward at the architecture across from you. Plucking the cigarette from between his fingers you inhale deeply, tilting your head up to blow the smoke into the sky. You both sit in the quiet for a few moments as you smoke about half of the cigarette. He doesn’t seem to mind, or at least doesn’t say anything.

“How do you feel?” he finally asks, and you chuckle as you take another inhale.

“How do you think I feel?” you look to him and he nods, taking the cigarette from you. You try and ignore the tingly feeling in your stomach when his lips touch the same part of the cigarette that yours did, with no hesitation.

“Did you genuinely believe she was guilty?”

The question throws you off guard.

“I don’t know.” you answer honestly, bringing your knees up to rest your hands on top of them.

“I don’t often think anything is too personal in a court of law, but that phone call with Sandra and Samuel felt, invasive?”

“It didn’t seem like you had any qualms when you were questioning about it,” he questions.

“Well of course not. I wanted to win.”

Vincent laughs, a real deep laugh, and you can’t help but crack a small smile at the noise. You realize you hadn’t heard it before, at least not before it preceded an insult hurled your way.

“What do you mean, invasive?”

It’s hard to collect your thoughts on his question, and you are suddenly transported back into that courtroom, listening to that call.

“It was like I felt every molecule of anger, resentment, disappointment. I just felt like I was right there in the middle, taking both of their punches. Like,” you take a beat, trying to formulate your words.

“Like I was their son, with no vision of what was happening but so desperately aware of the anger in the air. And feeling guilty that I caused it, somehow.”

Vincent hums.

“I’m sorry with how often I pried, about you and Sandra,” your voice is quiet, and you pick at the straps of your heels.

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago. The feelings I have for her have changed.”

This time you hum, unsure of what to say. For the first time in your years of knowing him, you feel bad about possibly making Vincent uncomfortable. You’re not sure why. You sit in awkward silence for a couple of minutes before you stand up, brushing the stray tufts of cigarette ash that stuck to your skirt.

“Well, I won’t keep you, I have to go turn in evidence of my defeat” you gesture towards the papers in your hands. “And you have to go celebrate, I presume.”

Vincent stands up as well, flicking the cigarette onto the floor and stomping it out with his boot.

“No celebrating for me,” he says with his hands raised. You smile, and he does the same.

“How will you be … coping?” he asks and you roll your eyes.

“Not sure, probably at home with a really cheap bottle of wine.”

His lips purse as he puts his hands into his pockets. “I guess I deserve that.”

You rock slightly on your balls and feet, not sure if you should walk away from him or not. You’re just about to step out of his way when he starts talking.

“I have a nice Pinot Grigio I’ve been waiting to open, if you’d, you know, like to … join,” Vincent’s voice gets quieter as he keeps talking, and you swear you can see a soft pink hue on his cheeks, but perhaps that was the night playing tricks on you.

“I don’t want to impose-”

“You wouldn’t be,” he cuts you off. “I’ll wait for you out here?”

-

Vincent’s house - not apartment - was somehow exactly and nothing like what you would have imagined. It’s a one-story Victorian-style home with a dark exterior, but the inside is painted a warm yellow with tons of books littering the floors and walls and miscellanous trinkets and birthday cards tucked in between. There’s empty pizza boxes and wine bottles on the kitchen floor, and through his tall back window you can see a mini garden in his backyard, with vines of tomatoes and bushels of leafy greens sprawled amongst the grass. It looks very lived in - you can imagine Vincent waltzing around in the morning, reading his big law books with big glasses of wine, like the one you have in your hand right now.

The two of you are currently halfway deep into a bottle, talking about nothing and everything. The case, bad clients you’ve had before, your favorite pastry shops in Paris, the funny face that one of the Magistrates makes every time the Judge looked at him.

“Thank you for the wine monsieur,” you say with a dip of your head and an exaggerated bow.

Vincent shakes his head before taking a sip of wine, and you notice how the soft pink you thought you had noticed before has turned into a deep red from his forehead to his chest. Vincent being tipsy was such an odd thought to you that you couldn’t control your laughter, your hand flying up to cover your mouth as you started to giggle incessantly.

“What? Is there something on my face?” Vincent giggles alongside you, and you shake your head no.

“The serious, smart lawyer is wine-drunk with the person he probably hates the most. I could not have imagined ever being in this situation,” you manage to collect yourself, putting your hand over your chest as you take the final sip in your glass and wave off Vincent as he motions to pour you another one.

“I don’t hate you,” Vincent mutters as he pours himself another glass of wine.

“You’re pretty good at acting like you do.”

He just nods. Suddenly the air in the room has changed, and it feels constricting. Like all of the arguments and venomous insults you’ve thrown at each other has coagulated in this massive living room

“I actually, um, envy you a lot of the time.”

“Envy me?” you can’t help your incredulous tone after his sentence. “You don’t have to say things to pity me, you know,” you laugh, but Vincent’s face is still serious.

“You are just naturally someone people want to spend time with. Even when you annoy me beyond belief, some part of me is always, drawn to you, I suppose. And I envy that. I don’t really know who I am without doing things for others.

You furrow your brows at his sentence. “What do you mean?” you lean over your chair to be a bit closer to him. He plays with the silver ring on his index finger.

“Sometimes I feel like the people I’ve loved, only want me when I can do something for them, you know? I mean, even my own mother, I remember- ” he stops to take a large sip of wine.

“I was almost done with primary school, and my Dad was gone on some inane business trip. I told her I wanted to go to a birthday party downtown, and that I wouldn’t be able to make dinner that night. She got so mad at me that she threw the bottle of wine she’d nearly finished at my head.” He swirls his wine glass around staring into it.

You put your hand on top of his, and he looks up at you, staring into your eyes before clasping his hand arond yours.

“I’m really sorry,” you whisper. He shrugs, and before you can stop yourself, you bring his hand up to your mouth and press a featherlike kiss against his skin. Vincent’s eyes are glassy, and he separates his fingers from yours to place his hand against your face, his thumb gently caressing your jaw.

“Do you have more cigarettes?” you ask, softening into his touch.

“In my bedroom.”

His statement - his ask - reverberates through your head as you both stare at each other, trying to discern what will happen next. Your thoughts are so loud that you’ve afraid that somehow they’ll extend out into the room.

is he saying what i think he is?

And normally, you would say a snarky remark about how he wishes he could get you in his bedroom, and how you’d rather die than see where he sleeps, but the wine has made you slightly woozy and all you can think about is how good he looks with his hair gently sticking to his face and his t-shirt tight around his arms, and what it would feel like to fuck him.

So you say “okay”, and leave your phone on the dining room table.

Vincent opens his bedroom door, moving to let you walk in first before closing the door behind him. He opens his mouth to speak and before you can think your mouth is on his, and he’s shocked for a moment before he kisses you back, your lips melding together. You push your body into his as Vincent wraps his arms around your waist, his hands digging into your skin as he quietly moans into your mouth. Your intertwined bodies make it to the bed and he hovers on top of you, his hard cock pressing against your thigh and you reach down to touch him over his jeans, feeling him shudder against you. You pull away from him.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” his voice is a little hoarser than it was before. “I’m okay.”

“Good,” you pull your shirt over your head and tug at the bottom of his and he laughs he does the same, and you admire his shirtless body as he reaches back down to kiss you again, but he’s not as gentle this time. He’s aggressive, dipping his tongue into your mouth and holding your face in his hands.

“So beautiful”, he murmurs, tilting your head so he can suck on your neck and graze his teeth against the bruises spot he left. “So much more beautiful than I imagined”.

Your head falls back on the pillow as you feel his hands reach behind your back and unclip the hooks on your bra, his mouth moving to your breasts and licking your nipples.

“You’ve imagined me?” you pretend to be bashful as your mouth falls into an o-shape, feeling Vincent’s mouth on your chest and his hands on . He moans and you can feel it throughout your whole body as you lean down to shimmy out of your skirt and underwear in one move.

“In every way possible,” he says as he dips a finger down, past your belly button and into your cunt. You’d feel embarrassed at how wet you are already if his hand didn’t feel so good inside of you.

“I’ve thought about what you would taste like, how you would sound when I first fuck you for the first time,” his mouth moves down from your chest, leaving a trail of wet kisses down your abdomen before he’s just above your heat and you sigh, involuntarily jerking your hips up. He puts his free hand around your lower stomach to hold you in place.

“But nothing,” he nips at the spot right in the crease of your hip, licking a long stripe just next to your heat.

“Could’ve come close to how pretty you really are.”

“Christ,” your hands grab fistfuls of Vincent’s sheets as his tongue finally swirls around your clit, pressing just a bit harder as he puts another finger inside of you. You can feel the pressure building in your lower stomach as you and Vincent’s grip on your stomach get firmer as you wriggle under his touch. He groans into your mouth as you start to grind your hips into him, fucking you faster with his fingers as he rolls his hips into the bed.

“Vincent,” you say with a gasp and grip his hair, pulling as you come around his mouth, your head dizzy with the feeling of Vincent’s tongue on you as he stares up at you from between your legs. He pulls his hand out of your cunt and licks his fingers before putting his mouth back on your clit, making you jump at the contact. You hiss as he licks the sensitive area, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you tug so hard on Vincent’s hair that you’re afraid you’re hurting him, but if you are, he doesn’t stop you. He interlocks his fingers across your stomach and holds you into place, groaning into your clit.

“Okayokayokay,” you move your hands from his hair to head to pull him up, your breathing labored as you try to get yourself together. He leans over to kiss you, his lips softly molding against yours as you wrap your arms around his back.

Breathless, you move your hand down to touch Vincent but he quickly stops you.

“It’s- um-”

You look down and notice the wet spot on Vincent’s boxers, and your eyebrows raise to the top of your forehead as you come to the realization that he came while he was eating you out.

“Did you-”

Vincent groans, hiding his face in your neck as you giggle, coming down from your high.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you thread your fingers through his now disheveled hair. “It’s kind of hot if I’m being honest.” Vincent looks at you with a questioning look but you just smile.

“Plus, we have all night to try again.”

-

You wake up in Vincent’s bedroom, with a few strips of sunlight peeking through Vincent’s closed blinds. You haphazardly reach over to his side of the bed to grab his arm, but find it empty, raising your head from the pillow to see that you’re completely alone. Vincent’s clothes that he had taken off during the night and tossed onto the floor were gone. You waited to see if you could hear Vincent in his kitchen, or in the garden, but you were in complete silence.

To be fair, he didn’t say anything last night to insinuate that he wanted a relationship with you, or even liked you. Maybe this was secretly a win for him - he could beat you in a courtroom, and now he got you in your most vulnerable state to declare that you actually felt something other than hatred for him. And maybe that’s all he wanted. You’re not sure why you expected anything differently.

You throw the blankets off of you and find your clothes neatly folded on his desk, and his courteousness manages to upset you even more. You put your clothes on and try to collect yourself, taking a few deep breaths as you walk out of his bedroom and out towards his kitchen. You scan the room for your phone, which you swear you left on the dining room table, only to finally see it on top of a note on the kitchen counter written in messy cursive.

“Went out for cigarettes and coffee.

Bringing back croissants and a capuc- cappuccino.

Will be back in ten.

Go back to bed.

V”

-

taglist: @ghostlytide

graphic credits: @glasvera

#vincent renzi #vincent renzi fanfiction #swann arlaud fanfiction #swann arlaud #vincent renzi x reader #swann arlaud x reader #anatomy of a fall fanfiction #anatomy of a fall #anatomie d'une chute #vincent renzi smut #swann arlaud smut #smut #fanfic

[divine-donna]

tell me

instead of writing a fic, i settled on writing just a general collection of headcanons. these are gender neutral. and uh, i'm on a mission to convert my friend to the swann arlaud agenda.

anyways watch anatomy of a fall on a big screen. don't do what i did, which is just watch it on my laptop. movie is too good to be watched on a laptop. and also be a streaming service.

these are gender neutral, by the way.

part 02

character: vincent renzi (aka. hot lawyer from anatomy of a fall)

for vibes: "tell me" by fifty fifty

moving to france wasn't on your list of things to do when you were in your early teens. it was such a drastic move. but unfortunately, it made sense because your mother was a film scholar who specialized in french film and she got a job to teach at a prestigious university. it was an opportunity she had to take and you were brought along for the ride.

picking up french was not that hard. you learned in school and also picked it up from the films your mother watched. you remembered watching Cléo from 5 to 7 a lot. maybe you shouldn't have, considering its themes. being immersed in the environment helped you pick up on it quicker.

all to say, you were fluent by the time you reached university.

you don't remember which class you met him in. you just know you got put in a group together for introductions. typical first year stuff.

"vincent renzi."

he had a boyish charm to him. he looked younger than you, yet you were the same age. there was still some baby fat on his cheeks.

your smile was warm. "(y/n)."

he became one of your first friends.

university was a rough transition period. you left your old friends behind. you didn't like them that much anyways. they didn't seem to like you either. so, you essentially came into university without many friends.

it's a gradual friendship, one that arises from meeting up consistently and then those meetings evolving into hanging out for hours.

doing schoolwork while drinking coffee, reading in the library, going out for dinner. hell even cooking for each other. it was a solid friendship.

it helped that you guys also wandered in the same social circle. so you also had mutual friends, including german exchange student sandra voyter.

they always talked about how you two were together. always seen talking. always seen outside of class. even when you guys had so much work to do and you shouldn't be with him because you guys ended up distracted and procrastinating your papers.

"why do you still have this?" he asks.

it was your third year of university. your place was small cozy. and it was affordable with your two other roommates. you guys had gotten lucky with the rent.

"have what?" you don't look up from your laptop. you were nearly finished with your paper.

"this."

you look up. vincent's holding up a dvd box with a beat up cover sleeve. the colors were faded and the cardboard was bent all over, creating multiple webs.

"because it's mine?"

"it's all beat up. wouldn't it be better to transfer to a new box?" he shrugs.

"my mother gave it to me when i graduated. it's...niche, i guess." you think about how she gifted you her favorite movie and the movie she has written a whole book about.

"everyone knows Céline and Julie Go Boating."

"not in that sense. just in the sense that my mother has an interesting way to mourn me leaving the house." you still stayed with her when you went back. but graduating really proved that you weren't a kid anymore. "i really liked it when i was younger. because of the colors. the rest of the stuff did not register with me. according to her, i kept asking her to put it on."

"you must have had an interesting taste as a child."

"well...she specializes in this stuff. so i'm not surprised."

"you don't even have a tv."

"okay well, i have it for novelty sake."

your eyes return to your laptop screen. you don't notice the way vincent's eyes linger on you, watching the way your fingers intently move as you finish up your paper. or how you furrow your brows when rereading your sentence and realizing it makes no sense. or the gentle curse beneath your breath when you realize you've forgotten a word in your sentence. he's never heard someone curse so gently.

he sets the dvd back where he picked it up from, feeling the worn out cardboard.

it was your birthday. such a scary time, for it to come so soon.

originally, you thought it was going to be you, vincent, sandra, and some of your other friends. after all, vincent was good as organizing group events and outings.

when you showed up at your usual meeting spot, it was just him.

"are they going to meet us there?" you question.

"we'll meet them after." he smiles.

"what is going on in that brain of yours?"

"you'll see."

when he takes your hand, your heart flutters. you've held hands before. but never did it make you feel so...light. like a cloud. you weren't sure if you were imagining your cheeks heating up slightly.

vincent leads you to a nearby cinema. he buys two tickets for a limited showing of Céline and Julie Go Boating.

"this is so..." you can't help but let out a laugh, staring at the movie ticket.

"why not? get the full experience." his eyes are gentle. there's tenderness in his gaze. it makes you feel all warm and gooey on the inside.

"you know the movie is...over three hours long right?"

"of course. that's why i picked an earlier showing. so we can get to dinner on time later."

being in the dark with your friend for over three hours. watching a movie about two people who were coded to be lovers. what could go wrong?

nothing, really. in the eyes of someone else.

to you, and to him, everything.

you haven't seen the film in forever. so rewatching it was like watching it for the first time without being distracted by the colors.

vincent couldn't watch the movie. he was more interested in the way your face shifted, how you whispered about not remembering that happening, how you laughed and the way your lips curled so cutely.

in truth, he could care less about the movie.

you were his favorite film.

as céline and julie were in a soap opera, enacting a hetero-normative plot, you turn to look at vincent. you were wondering how your friend was holding up.

your eyes meet his and your lips can't help but curl into a smile.

"are you watching?"

"of course." his eyes flicker to the screen for a brief moment.

"or were you watching me?"

"your reactions are interesting. they tell me what i should be thinking of the film."

"i shouldn't be the one you judge this film on."

silence between you two. the kind of comfortable silence you two are used to. but something feels more different. perhaps because it was dark. perhaps because the world seemed to fall away and it was just the two of you and the film faded into the background.

you were oddly close to him. your shoulders were touching. and if you moved forward, your noses would be able to touch.

you shift closer, causing his breath to hitch. "thank you for this, by the way." when you whisper, it is a message only meant for him.

"happy birthday." he says. he moves his face closer, heart pounding.

you want to meet him in the middle. you want to feel his soft lips against your own. and yet, something grips you hard. it's stomach curdling.

you move forward, your lips on his cheek. his eyes widen and his shoulders slump a little. you pull away. "it's...nice. to have the bestest friend i know."

"that's not a word." sadness settles in his eyes.

"all words are made up. so i can make up new ones."

in the moment you felt unsure about not making a move. that regret comes to follow you in your life.

graduation came too soon. way too soon.

you had decided to leave france for a bit, go to grad school abroad. somewhere else where you could pursue an mfa in creative writing.

it was your last coffee before you guys would graduate, inevitably separating.

vincent said he wanted to tell you something. it was urgent, something important to him. you could tell he wanted to spit it out.

or did he want to vomit because he was nervous?

"stop leaving me in suspense!" you take a sip of your coffee. "what is it?"

should he tell you?

should he confess?

he wants to tell you. oh so desperately. and yet, he feels it would be selfish to.

it's not about if you didn't feel the same way. to vincent, being rejected is the better scenario.

he didn't want to keep you grounded in france, a place you were looking to leave because you have spent a decent chunk of your life here. moving was good for you.

he worried that if you felt the same way, then maybe you would reconsider going away. and if you were looking to leave forever, he didn't want to be the thing keeping you here.

i love you. i have for a while. let's go on a date.

thirteen words. three sentences.

it was so miniscule. but he felt like atlas, carrying the sky. he was carrying a whole world.

vincent wipes his palms against his jeans. his heart was stuck in his throat. and his brain acted first.

"i got accepted into law school."

"that's great! oh my god!" you nearly squeal for him.

your happiness for him was enough.

writing a hit debut novel is no easy feat. and yet, you did it. people loved your novel.

the novel centered on two friends. their platonic bond ends up in a weird limbo, where there's romantic tension but neither wants to act upon it in fear. ultimately, the two friends reunite years after they separated, on different career paths. they meet at a conference, sit at a bar, and the novel ends with them rekindling their relationship. you left it up to the reader to interpret that being romantic or platonic. or even if they never talked to each other again after that night.

you were on fire as an author. and your recent publication, a collection of short stories, had become particularly famous. especially on social media.

you decided to go back to france for a few months. you wanted to spend more time with your mother and catch up with your friends. all of them you haven't seen since university.

unfortunately it also didn't mean you were on vacation. you still had to work. and you had many book signings to attend to.

when you look up to see the next person, your heart nearly lurches out of your chest.

vincent aged like wine. he still looked like how he did in university. less baby fat. gray hair. some wrinkles. but you liked it.

his eyes meet yours and he walks over. "my favorite short story was the one about the cow farmer."

"that came from a dream i had as an undergraduate student." you open the book and sign the first page. "how are you?"

"good. good. how about you?" he smiles. he's so radiant. you're reminded why you missed him. and why you felt regret in your body from all those years ago.

"well, you already know about me." you gesture to the books. your books. "have you...met up with sandra recently?"

"on the rare occasion. she's been traveling a lot. but recently she moved here. with her husband."

"her husband...samuel?" vincent nods. "he's an interesting character. from the few times i met him."

"they seem to be doing alright." he takes the signed book and peeks at what you wrote. there's a heart next to his name.

"we should talk more. catch up."

"if you're free."

you think for a second. "can you come back in thirty minutes? i should be done by then."

vincent smiles. he leaves the bookstore.

he's waiting outside for you after those thirty minutes.

#x reader #male reader #female reader #gender neutral reader #anatomy of a fall #swann arlaud #vincent renzi #headcanons #fluff #romantic #vincent renzi x reader #anatomy of a fall fanfiction #vincent renzi fanfiction

[ghostlytide]

For Business Only | One

I hope you like it ^^

Vincent Renzi x Fem! Reader----1.6K

MASTERLIST -> Next

Synopsis:

After the whirlwind affair Vincent and you shared years ago, he was sure his goodbye was definitive. A fleeting memory filled with both regret and a peculiar ache that he can’t quite place. But life wishes to scorn him once again when his newest case obliges him to seek out your help. Though this case isn’t the only complicated thing in this strictly professional relationship—not with the way his heart seems to jump at your proximity, or the already familiar tune of your voice. For all the things that had changed, would this mean your story could have a different ending now?

General Tags: Second Chance/Exes to Lovers; Slow Burn; |They were Coworkers; Denial of Feelings; Pining & Longing; Idiots in Love; Eventual Friends (?) with Benefits (?); English isn't my first language so watch out for typos;

It was a late spring night when Vincent said his goodbye to you, so it was only fair that your reencounter would occur in another.

Life played both hommage and karma at him, remembering his words: You may forever hate me, but I promise you that you'll never see me ever again. I've bothered you enough.

That night, he had regained the common sense that had slipped out his grasp since you entered the law firm as an intern; eager to learn from whoever would spare you a glance for something more than to request their thousandth cup of coffee.

Of course, he did.

And how could he not to? When you were so bright and cheerful, all the opposite from those seniors who had seen the worst, to experience who knows how many times the balanced and blind justice's weight to tip at the wrong side. To have to face the client's hopeless expression.

Of course, you'd probably be sheltered from such a dark world at your station once you reached juniorship. But that wasn't the point right now.

Just as it wasn't the point to reminisce. He felt as ashamed as it could be possible while climbing the stairs of the skyscraper, which on the inside was decorated with pieces of steel, glass, and contemporary art that combined perfectly against the simple columns and the frescoes painted in the dome of the main hall.

Vincent shouldn't be overwhelmed by the sight, but he'd never been inside the Building of the Société Générale, white marble walls against a dark mosaic creating a cube to showcase the colorful paintings hung on the walls.

The secretary at the front desk showed him the way to the elevator behind the reception, polished black walls against the metal door as Vincent felt a pull in the pit of his stomach—either for the sudden upward movement or for nervousness, he didn't wish to dwell much on it.

Walking much faster than he wanted to, the secretary passed through an empty, quiet hallway in which Vincent could read a myriad of plaques varying from Accounting Department, all the way to Human Resources.

Finally, she stopped at a door labeled as Banking Associate: Cultural Department. Calling your name, she said: "Monsieur Favrè has sent his lawyer impromptu to meet you."

A muffled voice—your muffled voice echoed in the still hallway, stirring old memories inside of him he wasn't aware of keeping in the first place. "Alright. Let him come in."

A simple nod and the woman was gone. It was only the two of you now.

He took his time, a skipping beat. At the same time, you finished writing away at your keyboard. Then the door was closed with a gentle click.

"Monsieur Delaroux, what can I do for y—" A tentative pause, your bright, smart eyes locked into his. "Vincent?"

This hadn't been the deal planned out in his mind; he was almost hoping you'd ask, with a puzzled voice, who he was as if memory could morph at will rather than being one's source of torture.

So many years passed since he heard his name coming out of your soft lips, that if he remembered quite well, would taste like mocca and vanilla. But why was he remembering that now, from all times?

"Hello," he said, an awkward smile shining in the well-lit office. He put one of his hands inside the pocket of his dress pants, suppressing the childish urge to wave.

You blinked. "What… what are you doing here?"

"I know this isn't what we agreed on," he started, using small steps to get closer to the desk, as if you were a deer likely to run off, or a lion ready to pounce. Vincent had no idea which of the two could be worse. "But I need your assistance for a case. You're the most capable person I can think of, so I had to come and ask for your help."

Reclining from your seat, he let the words simmer into you, using the little time he had to look around your office, part of him was curious to see if he could still recognize a glimpse of the old you, and what he could learn from the present.

"How did you find me?" you asked, hands gesturing from him to sit in front of your desk.

"There are not many art lawyers with your name," he said, slightly flustered he had to admit about searching your name among colleagues, prying into your life when his promise was all the contrary. It wasn't the first time he felt like a fool, yet prideful because he was here for work.

And solely for work.

"I have a case linked with a small private art collection." His voice was plain, devoid of any emotion. He wasn't Vincent right now, the man that tried not to break your heart but failed terribly; he was Maître Renzi one of the talented lawyers from the before small law firm that now was rising like smoke after every case taken. "A murder. Probably linked to the growing art stock. I need an expert in the subject to conduct the required procedures."

"Since when do you take cases about private art collectors?" you hummed, eyes almost twinkling with amusement from all those times he had shit on the upper class and their slippery ways around the judicial system.

It was a good sign that you weren't bringing up his words last spoken, the past that at this moment felt too much aflush despite the time trying to bury it.

"This one is an exception." He couldn't help but get defensive, feeling like a stupid teenage boy being teased despite you being quite some years younger than him. "The owner of the law firm assigned me this case directly. We need to win so the firm can have an expansion." Which meant more law specialties, and more hired lawyers. And then it was… "They're even considering putting an Art Law department."

You could join, he almost said foolishly. Why would you like to be coworkers with him again, when that exact professional relationship prompted all the rest?

You seemed to be thinking the same. "It'll pay well," he added before you could say anything that derailed from his sketched conversation. "And it can help with your curriculum." Vincent signaled to the plaque in front of your computer, reading Junior Consultant. "It could be the case that turns you into a Senior."

There it was the ghost of you, biting your bottom lip in a pondering manner while your gaze was glued to the empty seat next to him.

"What makes you think you're going to win?"

"Have some faith in me, will you?" He chuckled, though deep inside he knew what you meant. It was a question that always lingered at the bottom of his mind, the one that stole his sleep some nights.

"Vincent—"

"Trust me. This is a high-profile case, very important for all people involved. I need your help. I know you're the only person that can help me." He couldn't make another empty promise. To never see you again? Vincent just broke it, and the opposite of that, to be partnered with you as colleagues didn't sound appropriate either. "You're the only one I can trust to remain on my side even if everything goes to shit," Vincent muttered after a while, blue eyes searching for yours as he tried to convince you with pity, even. Because you could never say no to him, and because this case was obliged to use all the desperate, creative measures he could think of.

Though Vincent wasn't lying about said statement. And you knew it.

You looked at him in a long, silent gaze that felt strangely, annoyingly charged inside the medium-sized office, silent so thick he heard the moment you chortled, a breathy, contained laugh that blessed him with the tiniest of smiles.

"Send me the generalities of the case so I can give it a glance tomorrow and write the protocol to follow."

"If tomorrow is one of your free days, we can discuss it over lunch," Vincent found himself saying before his brain could tell him to do better. "I'll give you a printed copy of everything so you can revise it easier. I apologize, but due to the nature of this case, I don't find myself comfortable with sharing this information via remote."

You put away the pencil you were playing with, settling it against the wooden desk with a thunk. "Breakfast. Tomorrow at 9 AM meet me at the Fontaine Saint-Sulpice. We can go to a nearby café once there." Looking from your computer to him, you arched an eyebrow. "Something else you need? You should go before the receptionist notices that you aren't Monsieur Favrè's lawyer."

He shrugged. "I showed her my card, she didn't say anything."

"Well, I'm not allowed to take private clients while on my shift."

"I'm not a client, we're colleagues."

You gestured away. "Wording. You know what I mean."

"You're a lawyer, Mademoiselle, wording matters."

"I write contracts and track art exhibits, Vincent," you told him in a familiar tone he recognized from when you two engaged in a well-needed, unwinding banter. "The one asked to give speeches is you, not me."

"Well, then you better prepare for an exception, because you will have to declare at court about your findings." Vincent heard your sigh and took in the sight of your angry pout, one you dedicated at him when it was time to get out of his office and help other junior lawyers while on your time as an intern. He was surprised to find it as charming as it once was. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

He stood up, torn between walking facing you or just striding toward the door. He did the last one, turning to smile at you while his hand tapped to feel the door's handle.

It was his time to call your name. "Thank you. Truly."

You nodded, one of the locks of your hair falling toward your brow, obscuring your view. "I'll see you tomorrow, Vincent."

#vincent renzi x reader #vincent renzi #vincent renzi fanfiction #anatomy of a fall fanfiction #swann arlaud x reader

[rxgirlie]

The Verdict- Chapter One

Pairing: Vincent Renzi x OFC

Warnings: None (as of now)

A/N: I have eleven chapters of this written so far but a slew of changes to make and things to add. In order to not burn myself out, I won’t be posting this on any sort of schedule. None of this has been beta’d and I’m posting in the midst of a covid fever dream so if there’s any mistakes, simply ignore them.

The morning fog hung low over Paris, a delicate shroud that veiled the city in mystery and whispered of stories untold. Among the ancient streets and grand boulevards, a tale was about to unfold—one that would intertwine the lives of two distinctly different souls.

In the heart of the city, Vincent Renzi stood before the towering edifice of the Palais de Justice. His silhouette, a solitary figure against the sprawling architecture, was a testament to the weight he carried. At forty, Vincent had the kind of presence that commanded attention—not just for his refined appearance, but for the intensity that simmered beneath his calm exterior. Today, that intensity was sharper, fueled by the stakes of the case that awaited him inside.

Vincent was not merely a lawyer; he was a defender of justice, a role he embraced with unwavering dedication. The case he was about to undertake was personal, representing his friend Sandra, who had been caught in a nightmare she claimed was a fabrication. Accused of a crime as sensational as it was tragic—pushing her husband out of a window—Sandra's innocence was a truth Vincent held unshakeable.

As he made his way through the corridors of justice, Vincent's thoughts were on the battle ahead. The case was complex, tangled in a web of evidence and emotion, and it demanded not just legal expertise but a deep understanding of human nature. It was a challenge Vincent was ready to face, driven by a conviction that the law, in its purest form, was about protecting the innocent and uncovering the truth.

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, an ambitious American lawyer was preparing for a journey that would change the course of her career. With a keen interest in international law and a hunger for experience beyond the confines of American courtrooms, she viewed the opportunity to shadow a French lawyer as a doorway to a new world. Little did she know, her path would lead her to Vincent Renzi, and together, they would embark on a journey that would blur the lines between professional collaboration and personal connection.

Paris awaited her with its charm and challenges, a city ripe with history and alive with the promise of adventure. As she packed her bags, she imagined the streets she would walk, the cases she would explore, and the people she would meet. Among those imagined faces was Vincent's, a partner in law she had yet to meet but whose reputation had preceded him.

The stage was set, the players drawn to their marks by fate and ambition. As the American lawyer's plane touched down on French soil, the first chapter of their story began to write itself, against the backdrop of Paris and the looming majesty of the French Alps. Little did they know, their encounter would be a confluence of minds and hearts, a trial of their beliefs and convictions, and a testament to the unexpected paths life can take.

____________________________________________

The chambers of Vincent Renzi were a world apart from the skyscrapers and modern glass facades that the American lawyer, Leah Bardin, was accustomed to. Nestled in a historic building whose stones whispered tales of centuries past, the office was a reflection of Paris itself—timeless, elegant, and steeped in stories waiting to be told.

Leah stepped inside, her senses immediately enveloped by the rich aroma of aged books and the subtle hint of espresso—a stark contrast to the sterile bustle of her New York firm. She was greeted by walls lined with volumes of legal tomes, certificates of commendation, and an array of photographs capturing moments of triumph and camaraderie.

At the heart of this sanctuary stood Vincent, his back to the door, engrossed in a mountain of case files that sprawled across his desk. The morning light streamed through the window, casting him in a silhouette that accentuated the deliberation in his posture.

Hearing the soft click of the door, Vincent turned, his gaze meeting Leah’s for the first time. In that moment, an unspoken assessment passed between them—a lawyer's instinctive evaluation of an opponent, colleague, and unknown entity all at once.

"Mademoiselle Bardin, I presume?" Vincent's voice broke the silence, his English tinged with the melodious accent of his homeland.

Leah extended her hand, the firmness of her grip belying the flutter of anticipation she felt. "Leah Bardin. It's an honor to meet you, Monsieur Renzi."

Vincent's study of Leah was brief but thorough. Despite his initial reservations about allowing an American lawyer to shadow him, he couldn't deny the determination that shone in her eyes. It was a look he recognized—a reflection of his own passion for the law.

"Please, call me Vincent. 'Monsieur Renzi' makes me feel like one of those ancient tomes on the shelf," he said, a hint of humor softening his features. "I understand you're here to learn about international law, but I must warn you, the case we're embarking on is not for the faint of heart."

Leah’s response was immediate, her resolve clear. "I didn't come all this way for an easy lesson. I'm here to learn, to contribute in any way I can."

Vincent regarded her for a moment longer, then nodded, the initial barrier of formality giving way to a burgeoning respect. "Very well. Let's get to work."

As they delved into the details of Sandra's case, Vincent was surprised by Leah’s insightful questions and her quick grasp of the complexities involved. Leah, in turn, was captivated by Vincent's depth of knowledge and his passionate advocacy for his friend.

Their first meeting, initially marked by caution, evolved into a dynamic exchange of ideas and theories. It was clear that despite their different backgrounds, they shared a common dedication to justice. As the day wore on, the foundation of an unexpected alliance was laid, their mutual respect a testament to the potential of their collaboration.

As Leah left Vincent's office that evening, the streets of Paris bathed in the golden hue of sunset, she felt an exhilarating sense of purpose. And for Vincent, watching her silhouette disappear into the maze of the city, there was an acknowledgment, however grudging, that Leah Bardin might just be the ally he needed in the battle ahead.

#vincent renzi fanfiction #vincent renzi x original female character #vincent renzi #anatomy of a fall vincent #vincent renzi fic #the verdict #hot lawyer save me

[mx-pastelwriting]

"How do you say?"

Vincent Renzi x GN! Reader

Summary: Talking about you day as you cook dinner together.

Warnings: Established Relationship, Fluff, Cooking, Kissing, Vincent being babygirl

Swaying with the music as a delicious aroma filled the room, arms wrapped around you as the food sizzled in the pan, earning a stir every so often.

Kisses prickled your neck that came with low hums of satisfaction, causing laughs to sound from you. "Easy, Vinnie," you warned, causing him to laugh. "Vinnie? Is that a-a, How do you say?" he questions against your shoulder.

Turning your head a little to see his questioned face, "Nickname?" you help, earning a smile hum and happily raised brows, laughing again. "Do you not like it?" you asked before turning back to the food. "No, no, it's..." he trails off.

"Cute." You finish his sentence, causing both of you to laugh once again, releasing you from his hold letting you finish up the dish. Giving it a few final stirs, hearing as plates rustle from behind you.

"Let me," he whispers next to you while resting his hand on your side, having him take over, turning to sway your way to the small table in your shared apartment. Setting out the glasses, pouring Vincent a bit of wine, and lastly, lighting the candles bringing a romantic mood to your dinner night.

Settling down into your seats eating away at the dinner, the music filling up the background as you talked about your day.

Lost in his eyes as he went on about a case, you noticed a small smear of sauce on his bottom lip that hadn't yet been wiped away. Unknowingly, your body moved, causing him to stop talking as you wiped it away with your thumb, snapping back as a smile formed on his lips.

"Sorry, you just had a little something," you said, whipping it onto your napkin, causing him to laugh. "No, it's fine," he reassured, looking back at him with your faces now closer feeling as he placed a hand on your thigh, sparking something familiar in you.

"How do you say it? When you want to-" He asks, but your patience wore thin, making your lips meet interrupting his words and thoughts. Feeling the familiar softness accompanied by a gentle hand cupping your cheek as your lips melted together.

Humming through the kiss, he tries to speak, but in turn, you speak your own. "Just shut up and take me already," you say between the kisses. Needing no more words to be said, he pulls you in, making the dinner seem so minuscule to the rest of the night.

A big thank you to my friend @icefrozendeadlyqueen for the help with a line! Thank you so much!!

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

#vincent renzi #vincent renzi x reader #vincent renzi x you #vincent renzi fanfic #vincent renzi fanfiction

[violetrainbow412-blog]

PLEASE if you know of any Vincent Renzi fics, don't hesitate to comment here and if anyone has ideas for something, send them and I'll write them up. It's honestly driving me crazy that there is no material and the edits on tiktok only make me more obsessed

#vincent renzi #vincent renzi x reader #swann arlaud #anatomy of a fall #sexy lawyer #vincent renzi fanfic #vincent renzi fanfiction #vincent renzi request

[romanroycoo]

After The Fall - Vincent Renzi x Reader

Swann Arlaud in Anatomy of a Fall, similar plotline, son doesn't exist neither does Snoop (sadly).

Summary: After the trial of the death of your husband, you struggle to come to terms with this new life and the trauma of what has happened before. Vincent Renzi, however, becomes your comfort, staying beside you the whole time. A friends to lovers fanfiction

CW: Angst, fluff, obvious flirting, reader is depressed, grief, hurt and comfort, mentions of death, ex-husband was abusive - no mentions of it in this chapter.

Chapter one - Bathroom floor.

It had only been a few days since the trial had ended and you were freed from the question of murder. However, mentally, things had not seemed to get any brighter, your mind was in pieces, a sadness plagued your body day in and day out. And you had no one to call. 

Except Vincent.

You know you could depend on him for anything, hell, he saved your life technically. You needed him, not only as a lawyer, but as a friend. So when you were sitting on the floor of your bathroom, in this awfully empty house, crying desperately from the weight of the last few weeks of your life, you decided to call him.

“Y/n? Are you alright?” Curiosity was clear in his voice. You realise you missed this voice.

“Vincent..Hi, uhm i'm sorry to call you but uh..” Tears were still heavy on your cheeks and you struggled to get the words out. Asking for help wasn't your forte.

“No, no its fine dont worry. Is there something wrong? You sound-”

“Upset? Yeah. I can't seem to stop. I should be happy now the trial is over.” You laugh. “But, i just cant seem to be that.”

“You've been through so much, Y/n.” His voice is soft and warming.

There was a silence on the line through a few seconds, sad but not uncomfortable. You didnt know what to say, it was always like that around him. You were weirdly nervous, probably just the long time of not seeing each other, right?

“Could you co-”

“Yeah, i'll be there soon.” He says before you can even finish the question.

*****************************

It was late afternoon when he got there, letting himself in, it was a familiar arrangement by now.

You watched as the door glides open and he peers down at you, sat with your knees to your chest, leaning against the bath wall. 

“Hey.” You made a sad smile at him before he sat next to you automatically.

His head turned and his saddened gaze met yours. “Hey.”

Your eyes were already welling with tears again before you placed your head onto his shoulder, leaning into him. He shifted to make it more comfortable before wrapping his arm around you and placing his hand on your knee. You needed this hug so much, it had been so long since you felt the warmth of someone else near you like this. 

It felt like you could truly cry forever, and you hoped that he would stay, through it all, holding you like this and you didnt know why.

“Ive lost everything. Everyone. I dont know what to do or where to start again. Im such a mess.” You muffle into his side. “Ive never felt like this before.”

He stares for a while, understanding and listening to your pain. He hated seeing you like this and he wish he could take it away in an instant.

“You havent lost me, okay? And you just need some time. Ease back into things. Dont force yourself Y/n.”

You nod before sitting back up and looking at him, smiling assuringly and sorrowfully. Then as if nothing, you felt the pad of his thumb grace against your cheek, softly wiping away the tears staining your face. This house didn't feel so empty anymore.

#fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ff #swann arlaud #justine triet #sandra huller #anatomy of a fall #messi the dog #Vincent Renzi #vincent #hot lawyer #anatomyofafall #vincentrenzifanfiction #swannarlaudfanfiction #swannarlaud #fluffandangst #fluff and angst #hurt/comfort #wattpad #wattpad fanfiction #hot lawyer from anatomy of a fall #y/n #Swann Arlaud x reader #Vincent Renzi x Reader

[griaustinis]

i'm seriously unwell about swann arlaud. everyday I go on tiktok and just watch edits from anatomy of a fall (i've probably got up to 20 saved). i scroll on my fyp and i hope to get an edit and i do. for about to days it was every ninth tiktok vid which is not enough. I've created three playlists (one specifically for his character in anatomy, one for sandra from anatomy and a third one) I've started writting fanfiction about vincent renzi. i downloaded the movie to make video edits of him WHEN I DON'T KNOW HOW TO EDIT. i just know a few songs that i think fit him (vincent). i cannot focus on anything and I've got serious uni work. and i still managed to watch two movies he's in in three days. idk what kind of hormonal storm i'm living through but can it at least calm down enogh so i can get stuff done? because this is just ridiculous. frankly, embarrassing. i don't even know a word strong enough to describe the absolute nonsense that is my current situation

#swann arlaud #vincent renzi #anatomy of a fall #white boy of the month #aoaf #anatomie d'une chute #d!lf #griaustinis.post

[euphoriaslux]

a gloomy december morning

word count: 1196

warnings: suggestive sexual content, very slight jealousy, mentions of smoking and drinking. vincent being a dreamboat

a/n: i have never written before but i watched anatomy of a fall and knew what i had to do. i am so scared and think this is garbage but i hope u guys like it :))

*

vincent is fast asleep, a true rarity for your household. he’s naked, bar the thin linen blanket draped over his hips that his mother tossed in a bag when you two first moved into this home. you brush your fingers through his silver hair, shifting to give him a soft peck on his forehead. he shifts but ultimately stays in the same position.

smiling, you gently move your duvet off of your body, shivering at the lost warmth. you scan your shared bedroom, littered with strewn clothes, empty wine bottles and folders filled with documents and find a chair with an old tee shirt on it that hits just above your underwear.

you made a mental note to at least try to clean the house sometime soon, but you just couldn’t leave your vincent alone now that you finally had him for more than two hours at a time. after a year of only seeing him at night, or when you could visit his office during your lunch break, or over facetime in the early hours of the morning, something as simple as waking up with him felt sacred. you didn’t know how much of this you had.

you brace as you push the door close as quietly as possible, hissing as your feet hit the cold tile of the linoleum of your kitchen floor. it still smells vaguely of the cake you two shared last night, picking at pieces of tiramisu between gulps of white wine and sneaky kisses even though no one was watching. you grab some ground coffee and start to heat up your stovetop espresso maker, which you got at the insistence of your very stubborn husband.

-

“love, can’t we just get an instant coffee maker? it will be so much faster” you ask from behind your laptop, tucked into your velvet sofa as the december rain gently pattered onto your roof.

vincent chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from the drawer.

“you have not had a real cappuccino if it comes from a machine, chérie,” he says as he rummages through the kitchen drawers while swearing under his breath.

you rise from the couch with a soft sigh, shutting your laptop and placing it on the glass table in front of you and grabbing vincent’s lighter that’s pressed in between the couch cushions. his head whips around when he hears you click the lighter, and your cheeks widen as you walk over to him. vincent smiles back, his cigarette loosely hanging between his lips and his hair slightly disheveled from his search. he leans down ever so slightly, looking into your eyes as the flame lights the cigarette, taking a long drag before leaning against the kitchen counter.

“the coffee is more, how do you say bien équilibrée in english, darling?”

“well rounded,” you toss the lighter behind him, crossing your arms over your chest. he hums, nodding as he breathes out wafts of smoke.

“the coffee is more well-rounded,” the word sounds a little funny coming out of his mouth as if you could see his brain forming each letter in real-time. you can’t help but giggle, reaching behind him to open the kitchen window.

“i’m sure it is”

before you can fully stand up again his hand is on your lower back, softly bringing your body against his. he smells like tobacco and the slightly too minty toothpaste you buy from the convenience store down the road. he looks so beautiful in the dim winter light.

“tu me fais confiance, n'est-ce pas? (you trust me, don’t you?)” he asks, pressing his fingers into your side. he moves to hover just above your neck, and you can’t help but melt into his touch as he nibbles ever so gently on your neck, just below your ear. your eyes flutter closed and you feel the warmth pool in your lower stomach.

“vincent-”

“ you do, right?” he cuts you off as his hand wanders to the front of your body, playing with the waistband of your panties. his fingers ghost just above your cunt, and you sigh.

“of course, my love. always.”

you whine from the loss of contact as he steps away from you, taking a drag with a slight smile on his face.

“bon,” he says, his free hand caressing the side of your face.

“so we’ll go get our moka pot - not machine - tonight”.

-

you grin at the memory as you pour two shots of espresso into vincent’s favorite mug, along with a splash of whole milk, and turn on the burner to make another for yourself. you rock on your feet as you think of what to make for breakfast - maybe eggs? but vincent forgot to run to the farmers market, maybe jam on toast. there might be some leftover brioche-

you jump when you feel a pair of hands wrap around your chest smiling as you feel your husbands face nuzzle into your shoulder, pressing a few faint kisses on your skin while his hair tickles your neck.

“i thought you’d sleep for a few more hours honey,” you say, turning around to hand him his cup of coffee and laughing as his eyes brighten. he takes a sip, closing his eyes as he drinks.

“couldn’t sleep,” he says after a few moments, opening his eyes to stare into yours. his voice is deeper than normal, and you can tell he just woke up because there’s still a gravelly edge to it.

“i sleep poorly without you, honey.”

you raise your eyebrows as you let your fingers graze his chest and down his stomach.

“that’s a good one, do you tell all your girlfriends that?”

he rolls his eyes, taking a big sip before setting his mug on the counter.

“i’m being serious. i swear, every time it would get late and i’d try to sleep on sandra’s couch, i just couldn’t.”

your body goes rigid at the sound of her name but you try and ignore it, tracing circles onto his stomach. your mouth feels a little drier than it was a few minutes before.

vincent notices, of course he does. there’s nothing you could do that would get past him, the stellar lawyer.

“don’t be like that,” he whispers, cupping your hand in his face. you try to keep your gaze down but he tilts your head up.

you roll your eyes.

“every day while i was gone, all i wanted was to be home with you. you were all i could think about. you are all i ever think about.”

you feel lightheaded at his words, wrapping your arms around his neck as you kiss him deeply, sighing as your hand wanders down to the waistband of his boxers. you feel him smile into the kiss, putting out the cigarette so he has both hands free to touch you.

“take me to bed?”

you feel vincent’s stomach tense as your hand dips into his boxers. he gives you a soft kiss on the side of your face.

“how can i say no when you ask so nicely”.

#vincent renzi #vincent renzi x reader #vincent renzi fanfiction #swann arlaud #swann arlaud x reader #swann arlaud fanfiction #anatomy of a fall #anatomie d’une chute #anatomy of a fall fanfiction

[divine-donna]

lovin' me

part 01

a continuation of my previous set of headcanons. i wanted to write something more romantic. less pining. maybe a bit more...steamy. i got inspired after showing my friend the movie.

yes i am continuing the fifty fifty vincent renzi interpretation. he's sooooo fifty fifty coded. he's just like me fr

character: vincent renzi

for vibes: "lovin' me" by fifty fifty

"you have not changed. not a bit."

"stop." you can't help but laugh. you know it's...predictable of you. to get the same order you got every time you guys came to this cafe. but familiarity called to you.

habits were hard to break.

vincent leans back, placing a cigarette between his lips. he pulls his lighter out and tries to light it. it fails after a minute of trying. he must be out of fuel.

"you got a lighter?"

"always." you pull it out and place it in his hand.

his hand is soft and slightly cool. your fingers linger, trying to warm his hand with your own. he pulls away too quickly. you wanted your fingers to linger against each other just a bit longer.

he looks at the lighter. it was decorated. he recognizes the little line of pearls, going up and down with roses at the points the arches meet. he did it himself. and then he had given you the lighter as a gift. you laughed, brushing off the blush dusting his cheeks. you thought it was the wine.

the lighter you decorated at the time was a little more crude. less pattern like. it was chaotic, with a variety of charms that you thought represented him. he remembers how you cursed when the cross charm moved. it was crooked and you were too frustrated to try to fix it.

all while your friends' laughter filled the room and more wine was being poured into your glasses.

"you still kept this?" vincent lights his cigarette with the lighter. he takes a drag and blows the smoke away from you. it comes out as a steady stream.

his jawline. the way his hair framed his face. his turtleneck. his laxed posture. he was charming, your vincent.

charming and attractive.

"why wouldn't i?" you take your lighter back to light your own cigarette.

"i just...i would have expected all the pearls and roses to have fallen off by now."

"you were...generous with the modge podge."

he laughs. "i was, yes."

"what about you? just decided to throw the one i made for you away or...?"

vincent shakes his head. "no. i've...in truth, i've never used it. it's locked up in my desk drawer."

part of you felt a little offended. you place a hand over your heart, feigning offense. "vincent! how could you!"

"it's not like that! i swear! you put so much stuff on it that it...is kind of unusable!"

"it is not!"

"well...it isn't. i've used it. once." he puts up his index finger. "one of the moon charms came off. and i didn't want to spoil the art piece you had made for me. so it sits in my drawer. because i don't want it to be destroyed."

you watch him take another drag and blow away from you. your heart beats faster and you feel your cheeks warm.

he was sure he had the right address.

was this too much?

bringing flowers to you? properly prepared, put in a vase already. a balance between the vibrant colors of the flowers and the greens.

you seem to sense that he's there, because he raises his hand to knock and the door opens.

you're holding a wine glass and dressed casually in some loungewear.

"you're early! and with flowers!"

he looks down at them. "think of them as...a homecoming gift?"

you smile widely. "just come in!"

you had made dinner. a simple steak and frites. nothing special. vincent reminisces about how often you made this for him while you guys were in university. while on a budget, of course.

the meal is delicious. and then you introduce the big thing you invited him over for: baking and cake decorating.

"we always joked that we could do better than the people on cooking shows."

"can we?" he rolls his sleeves up. "do we even know how to...start?" he had a vague idea. baking wasn't exactly his specialty. he preferred to cook.

the last time he baked was in university. and you were there to help him clean his oven, which took over three hours to do.

"if we follow a recipe, we should be fine."

except it wasn't that simple.

there was flour and cocoa powder everywhere. you were pretty sure you had gotten some in vincent's hair, making it look whiter than it was.

he looks so cute though with flour on his nose.

the wine kept coming as you guys pushed the cake pans into the oven. in your drunken stupor, you both forget a timer. he's paying more attention to you, following you into the living room. he sets his wine glass down, half full with red.

you pull a record out of its sleeve and set it down on the player. it rotates as you drop the needle and music begins to play.

he raises his eyebrows. "you still listen to this song?"

"hey. it's great. and totally american." you giggle, taking another sip of your red.

you move towards him. drunken but effortless. there was a purpose in your movements as you walk towards him. you put your hand out.

vincent smiles and takes your invitation. he puts his hand in yours, feeling its warmth. your warmth. you pull him over and dance.

i think we're alone now. there doesn't seem to be anyone around. i think we're alone now. the beating of our hearts is the only sound.

somehow, you don't spill your wine. you finish it and set the glass down. you spin in his arms. they wrap around you, like a warm blanket.

he smells good too. coffee, pear, and white florals.

his sweater is soft. his touch is gentle. he looks at you with those big, puppy dog eyes of his.

and then you fall.

you bring him down with you.

the plush carpet holds your head. you look up at him. he looks into your eyes and you see your face reflected in his pupils. your cheeks are flushed red.

there's something unspoken between you two and you pick your head up, trying to meet him.

vincent meets you halfway, his lips soft. he tastes sweet, like honey.

his hands cup your face as you move in sync. he's in tune with your rhythm, letting you take the lead and guide him on what to do.

your fingers play with the ends of his hair, wrapping it around one of them. you press your hand against the middle of his back, pulling his body closer.

a small moan escapes you when he moves his hips. he grinds softly, your crotches rubbing against each other through your clothes.

you kiss him harder, deeper, sliding your tongue past his lips to caress his own. vincent moans into your mouth, one of his hands resting on the carpet and digging his fingers into it. he could feel himself beginning to slip and lose control.

and then, the smell of something burning reaches your nose.

you pull away, face flushed. his face was completely red. and not from the wine either.

"fuck the cake!"

vincent's brief feeling of happiness dissipates as he smells the cake burning. his lips curl upwards into a smirk. "leave it." he goes back in, pressing a small kiss against your lips. "we'll try again."

you kiss him back, giving into the bliss. "i think we fucked up the measurements anyways."

he laughs.

it feels like home.

#anatomy of a fall #vincent renzi #swann arlaud #vincent renzi x reader #vincent renzi fanfiction #anatomy of a fall fanfiction #x reader #male reader #female reader #gender neutral reader #romantic #headcanons

[rxgirlie]

The Verdict

(Sneak Peek)

Pairing: Vincent Renzi x OFC

A/N: okay, so, I have eleven chapters written so far but a lot of editing to do for this whole sha-bang. Here’s a cute little snippet for the Hot Lawyer Army. I told a white lie when I said the whole work in its entirety would be posted this week. (I am literally hot out of a writing work shop and legitimately whipped out a thesaurus and dictionary for this bad boy, like, who am I?)

In the quiet isolation where the Maleski family had sought refuge from the world, the tragic fall of Samuel Maleski unfolded into a legal and emotional labyrinth. Vincent Renzi, armed with the facts and facing the daunting task of defending Sandra, found himself navigating a case where the line between truth and perception blurred with every revelation.

Sandra, with her resolve wavering under the weight of public scrutiny, recounted the harrowing details to Vincent. Their conversations, often fraught with tension, revealed the complexities of her marriage to Samuel—a relationship marred by jealousy, ambition, and the tragic accident that had left their son, Daniel, blind.

As the case progressed, the absence of witnesses in their secluded life became a double-edged sword. Daniel's discovery of his father's fall, with no eyes to witness the tragedy and only the cold silence of the snow as his guide, painted a poignant picture of a family unraveled by misfortune.

During a brief respite from the intensity of legal preparations, Leah stepped outside for a breath of fresh Alpine air. The cold bit at her cheeks, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the indoors. She was soon joined by Sandra, who, in a rare moment of vulnerability, offered Leah a cigarette. The two women, standing side by side against the backdrop of snow and solitude, shared a silence that spoke volumes.

It was Sandra who broke the quiet, her voice tinged with a mix of resignation and defiance. "You remind me of a cat, you know. A black cat—slinky, chic, and a bit intimidating. But ultimately harmless." Her comparison, unexpected yet oddly accurate, drew a surprised laugh from Leah, the tension between them easing for the first time.

Leah took a slow drag, considering Sandra's words. "A black cat, huh? I'll take that as a compliment, I suppose. They're survivors, after all."

Sandra's lips quirked into a semblance of a smile, a glimmer of the woman she might have been before tragedy had taken its toll. "Survivors, yes. But they're also misunderstood. Feared for no reason other than superstition."

The conversation, meandering between confessions and observations, offered Leah a glimpse into Sandra's soul—her fears, her regrets, and her defiant hope for vindication. For Sandra, the moment provided a rare connection, a sense of being seen beyond the accusations and the public persona crafted by the media and the court.

As they stamped out their cigarettes and turned to head back inside, the brief camaraderie forged in the Alpine chill left an indelible mark. For Leah, the case had transformed from a professional challenge into a personal crusade, not just for justice, but for understanding the complex tapestry of human relationships that the law so often sought to untangle.

And for Sandra, the encounter with Leah—a woman as out of place in the snow as a black cat, yet standing her ground—offered a flicker of hope. In the face of overwhelming odds, perhaps there were still those willing to look beyond the surface, to see the truth hidden in the shadows.

————————————————————————

As Vincent navigated the winding roads back to Paris, the fading light of the Alpine sunset painted the sky in hues of orange and purple. Beside him, Leah sat wrapped in thought, the case of Sandra Maleski haunting her mind. The silence between them was comfortable, reflective of the trust and understanding that had developed over the course of their investigation.

Vincent broke the silence first, his voice steady against the hum of the engine. "Today was... revealing. Sandra's story, Daniel's perspective—it's like we're peeling back layers of truth hidden beneath layers of pain."

Leah nodded, turning to look at him. "It's more than just a legal battle; it's a fight for a family's soul. What struck me was Sandra's resilience, her ability to stand strong in the face of everything crumbling around her."

The conversation shifted naturally, as if the case had opened a door to more personal reflections. "You know," Vincent began, a hint of hesitation in his voice, "working on cases like these, it makes me wonder about the choices we make... the lives we lead outside the courtroom."

Leah caught the introspective tone in his voice, sensing an invitation into a part of Vincent's world that had remained closed off. "I've been thinking about that too. Back in New York, my life was all about the next case, the next win. But being here, working with you—it's made me realize there's so much more to life than just winning cases."

Vincent glanced at Leah, her profile illuminated by the passing streetlights. "And yet, here you are, far from home, diving headfirst into a complex case in a foreign country. What drove you to take this leap?"

Leah smiled, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "Adventure? Escape? Maybe a bit of both. I guess I was looking for something different... something meaningful. And I've found it, not just in the case, but in the connections we've made... with Sandra, with Daniel, and with you."

The admission hung in the air between them, a testament to the journey they had shared. Vincent felt a warmth spread through him, a sense of kinship with Leah that went beyond professional respect. "You know, Leah, I've spent so much of my life focused on the law, on being the best lawyer I can be. But meeting you, seeing your passion, your empathy... it's reminded me that being a great lawyer is also about understanding the human heart."

As the lights of Paris began to twinkle in the distance, marking their return to the city's vibrant energy, Vincent and Leah found themselves at a crossroads. The case that had brought them together was also quietly weaving their lives into shared experiences and newfound discoveries.

"Whatever happens with the case," Leah said, her gaze fixed on the approaching cityscape, "I'm grateful for this journey. For the chance to make a difference and for the friendship we've built along the way."

Vincent nodded, the city's familiar streets welcoming them back. "And I, for one, am grateful for the black cat that crossed my path," he added with a smile, acknowledging Sandra's earlier comparison and the unexpected luck it had brought into his life.

As they drove into the heart of Paris, the case awaiting them, Vincent and Leah knew they were no longer just colleagues. They were allies in the pursuit of justice, bound by the shared belief that beyond the legal battles lay the stories of real people, deserving of empathy, understanding, and a chance at redemption.

#vincent renzi #vincent renzi fic #swann arlaud #vincent renzi x original female character #hot lawyer save me #hot lawyer anon #anatomy of a fall #anatomy of a fall vincent #vincent renzi fanfiction

[ghostlytide]

For Business Only [Masterlist]

I surrender, okay, I can't resist the hot lawyer anymore 🤧🥺 Idk what I'm doing but uh, I'll post the first chapter later this week :D

Vincent Renzi x Fem! Reader

-> Next

Synopsis:

After the whirlwind affair Vincent and you shared years ago, he was sure his goodbye was definitive. A fleeting memory filled with both regret and a peculiar ache that he can’t quite place.

But life wishes to scorn him once again when his newest case obliges him to seek out your help. Though this case isn’t the only complicated thing in this strictly professional relationship—not with the way his heart seems to jump at your proximity, or the already familiar tune of your voice.

For all the things that had changed, would this mean your story could have a different ending now?

General Tags: Second Chance/Exes to Lovers | Slow Burn | Reader's an Art Lawyer/Art Consultator bc self-indulgent 🤡 |They were Coworkers | Denial of Feelings | Pining & Longing | Idiots in Love | Friends (?) with Benefits (?) | Mentions of Death, Blood and Violence | Trying to make a murder mystery fic we'll see how it goes | More punctual tags to be added in each chapter |

Chapter 1 | To Reap What You Sow

Chapter 2 | The Room of a Hundred Faces

Chapter 3|

#vincent renzi #vincent renzi x reader #vincent renzi fanfiction #anatomy of a fall fanfiction #swann arlaud x reader #vincent renzi smut #(eventually) #im gonna make a header soon kdjhskdkjf for now the pwetty gif will suffice <3

[rxgirlie]

The Verdict- Chapter Five

Pairing: Vincent Renzi x OFC

Warnings: sexual content, NSFW‼️

A/N: I heard your pleas and decided not to leave everyone hanging for days on end with the cliff hanger from the last chapter. Also there’s been some requests for an angry French/American/Leah/Vincent baby and though that’s not the direction I planned on going in, it’s very enticing.

Their first kiss was deep and passionate, a stark contrast to the urgency with which he helped her remove her jeans and underwear, maintaining contact with her skin. Trailing his lips down her collarbones and the valley between her breasts, he nipped at her tank top while his skilled fingers danced across her mound.

"Let me in," he whispered against her cheek, then captured her lips in a deep kiss. "Spread your legs and let me in."

With those words, she opened herself up, allowing him to run a finger through her silken folds.

"You're soaked," he observed, meeting her gaze as he licked her slick off his finger.

"Fuck me," Leah exhaled, her voice filled with desire. "Bed."

Vincent shook his head, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

"Right here," he declared, swiftly removing his shirt as Leah fumbled with his belt. "Bed later.”

"Yeah?" Leah murmured, her breath hitching. "Later?"

“Later,” Vincent hiked her up against the wall by the backs of her thighs, “Tomorrow. The next day after that.”

In the narrow corridor between the bathroom and the bedroom, a newfound intensity surged between them, igniting a raw passion. He swiftly tugged down her tank top, exposing her breasts to him like a pair of precious offerings.

His control slipped away in the most delicious manner, his hands grasping and pulling at her, the taste of heavenly honey lingering on his fingertips and tongue.

With deliberate slowness, he pressed into her, her cunt enveloping him like a velvety vice, drawing him in gradually. Rolling his hips against hers, he pressed her against the wall, savoring the moment. He moaned against the soft skin of her neck, his body devoid of movement.

She had envisioned this scenario countless times, but the reality surpassed all expectations. Despite the inviting comfort of his bed only a few feet away bathed in gentle downy linens, their passion unfolded against the wall in a torrential downpour of desire, unlike anything Leah had ever imagined.

When he finally moved, fucking into Leah with form and precision, primal sounds escaped them both, echoing within the small space, encircling them. Their connection mingled unbridled passion with tender surrender. It wasn't until Leah followed his gaze downward, watching closely as he moved in and out of her cunt like a forbidden symphony, that she began to lose herself.

Locked in a gaze, Leah let out wanton moan. Vincent captured it with his mouth, his tongue entwining with hers.

"I'm going to cum," Leah managed to gasp, but Vincent persisted with unwavering intensity, his deep, firm strokes driving her towards release. As she surrendered, her head bowed, but Vincent swiftly lifted it with a gentle touch, his finger tracing the curve of her jaw, his thumb caressing her cheek. He watched her with reverence, as if she were a sacred relic, as if he could kneel in worship at her feet at that very moment.

"Beautiful," he murmured as Leah met his gaze.

He pressed against her in a staccato rhythm, his breathing growing ragged. Leah tilted her head to the side, observing him as he rutted against her neck. His eyes searched hers with a wild intensity before closing in ecstasy, his face scrunching, a grunt falling from his lips. She felt his release, a smile playing on his lips as his hips stilled.

Silently, Vincent carried her to the bed, gently lowering her as he positioned himself above her.

He chuckled, prompting her to playfully bury her face in her hands. As she attempted to shift position, he halted her movement.

"I, for one, am grateful for the black cat that crossed my path," he remarked with a smile, a nod to Sandra's earlier comparison and the unexpected turn of fortune she had brought into his life.

_________________________________________

Leah, wrapped in a robe and fresh from the shower, rejoined Vincent in the bedroom. He sat there, shirtless, leaning against the headboard, savoring the aftermath of their intimacy.

"I didn’t manipulate you into revealing your truths through sex, Vincent," Leah stated as she settled at the foot of the bed, crossing her legs. "I never expected our conversation to lead to... that."

"Are you saying that for my sake or yours?" Vincent teased, flashing Leah a playful smirk.

"Let me be honest," Leah paused, gathering her thoughts. "I don't regret what happened between us. I regret that it followed my jealousy taking control."

"So, you were jealous," Vincent observed, raising an eyebrow as he stubbed his cigarette in the nearby ashtray on the bedside table.

Leah shook her head. "I felt lied to, entangled in a messy love triangle involving you, Sandra, and a dead man."

"You felt jealous," Vincent insisted, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Maybe," Leah sighed. "But there's something here, isn't there?" She gestured between them. Awkward yet honest, Leah never shied away from expressing her thoughts, even if it took her a while to articulate them.

"There's something here," Vincent confirmed, easing Leah's uncertainties about the unspoken connection they shared—be it physical, emotional, or both.

"But there's also something between you and Sandra," Leah pressed, prompting Vincent to recount their history.

Vincent delved into his past with Sandra, recounting their chance meeting and subsequent encounters at a nearby café before her relationship with Samuel.

"Wait a second," Leah interjected, her brow furrowed in disbelief. "A few chance meetings at a café and you fell in love?"

Vincent paused, his gaze thoughtful. "It's not so simple. I became a part of her life. The café, late nights at bars, quiet corners of restaurants."

"Sandra brought Samuel into our café meetings one day," Vincent continued, recalling their growing bond and Sandra’s subsequent move to London. "Her communication was here and there once they moved, reaching out on her own terms."

Leah shook her head in reflection. "Now he's gone, and she's returned. And to add to the chaos, there's an intrusive American stirring the pot in your life."

"A welcome, jealous distraction," Vincent joked, his smile warm and teasing.

Leah shook her head, a playful glint in her eyes. "A black cat, a distraction. What will I be called next? A harbinger of death?"

Vincent chuckled, his hand reaching out to draw her closer. "I've been distracted since the day you stepped into my office. You could distract the sun from shining, you know?"

Leah's smile softened as she gazed at him, a flicker of uncertainty mingling with curiosity in her eyes, pondering the sincerity behind his words.

_________________________________________

"You not only manipulated this man into fucking you, but you let him get off in you?!" Kate's voice pierced through the phone, prompting Leah to quickly lower the volume in case any passerby overheard the heated conversation.

"It wasn't manipulation, Kate. I simply expressed what I had observed and felt," Leah defended herself, her tone resolute.

"No," Kate countered sharply, "you used your work and your supposed fear of 'unprofessionalism' to lure this man into bed."

"It was in the hallway, Kate," Leah clarified.

"Like it even fucking matters!" Kate's frustration rang out.

"You wanted me to fuck him, and I did. Now you're fixating on the details," Leah chuckled wryly as she turned onto the sidewalk, scanning for the pharmacy she sought. Stepping inside cautiously, she surveyed the store.

"Excusez-moi," Leah placed her phone on the counter in front of her, conversing with the pharmacist in hesitant French.

"I'm back," Leah announced to Kate, who picked up on the muffled voices and changing surroundings as Leah navigated her way back along the sidewalk towards Vincent's apartment.

"You suddenly speak French?" Kate's skepticism was evident in her voice.

"No," Leah laughed, "I rehearsed that in front of the mirror for two hours earlier. It's quite humbling to ask for Plan B in a language I don't know."

"The plot thickens. You'll be pregnant by the end of the month," Kate sighed.

Leah chuckled dryly, "Doubt it. Dr. Stevens is sending a prescription for the pill, which I can pick up next week."

"I suppose you'll be having Plan Bs for breakfast for the next week then, huh?" Kate's sarcasm crept into her question.

As Leah arrived at the apartment, she found Vincent poring over a legal folder at the kitchen table. With a quick goodbye to Kate, she ended the call.

"I was surprised you weren't here when I got back," Vincent remarked, looking up at Leah as she stood at the counter and opened the box.

"Sorry, I had to make a quick run to the pharmacy," she confessed, grabbing a cup and filling it with water. Swallowing the pill, she turned to find Vincent watching her intently from across the counter.

He picked up the box's torn packaging, his expression troubled. "I wouldn't have... you know, if I had known the risk." Vincent's gaze met Leah's, a hint of apology in his eyes.

Leah shook her head vigorously. "Let me be frank—I wanted you nowhere else but inside me." A mischievous smirk played on her lips as she met his gaze.

"Well, let me be frank— the thought of being there again has been on my mind all day," Vincent admitted, running his hand through his hair.

Leah chuckled softly. "Instead of being frank, how about you be Vincent and I'll be Leah?" Vincent approached her, pulling her closer. "Let's see where that takes us."

Vincent nodded, looking down at her, struck by the mystery of her presence in his life and grateful for the chance to have crossed paths with her.

Taglist: @weakling-grace

#vincent renzi x original female character #maitre vincent renzi #vincent renzi fanfiction #vincent renzi #swann arlaud #anatomy of a fall vincent

[rxgirlie]

The Verdict- Chapter Four

Pairing: Vincent Renzi x OFC

Warnings: mentions of parental death, mentions of suicide, sexual themes.

A/N: happy Saturday! I have nothing to say except thank you to everyone who reached out with praise for this fic and urged me to continue. Big shout out to @luxlisbons who is constantly feeding me inspiration and listening to my neurotic ass. If you want to be added to my taglist, just let me know.

The arrangement that had begun as a matter of convenience had quickly transformed the dynamic between Leah and Vincent. Sharing Vincent's apartment brought them into a proximity that neither had anticipated, a closeness that underscored their days with an undercurrent of unspoken tension and unacknowledged attraction.

The mornings found them navigating the small kitchen together, a dance of shared spaces and quiet exchanges over coffee. These moments, charged with a palpable tension, were filled with lingering glances and the brush of fingers that neither could completely dismiss as accidental. The air between them was thick with something more than just the steam from the kettle—a budding desire that neither had yet dared to voice.

The first week bled into the second with ease as Leah and Vincent became acclimated as roommates. Leah, in the constant pursuit of finding a new temporary home, found herself discouraged each time she showed Vincent a listing.

“Bad neighborhood,” he would say, or “I don’t think that place suits you.”

Leah eventually gave up, falling asleep on the couch most nights when Vincent decided to work late in a quiet attempt to give him back his bedroom. Without failure, though, she would wake with Vincent asleep across from her on the chaise lounge. A testament to both their stubbornness.

As they delved deeper into the case, their evenings often stretched into late nights, with legal documents and books scattered across the living room table. The professional masks they wore during the day gradually slipped away in the privacy of their apartment, giving rise to laughter, shared stories, and the occasional bottle of wine that led their conversations from work to personal revelations.

"I've noticed the way you look at Daniel sometimes," Vincent broached the topic cautiously. "Do you have kids I don't know about?"

Leah shook her head, chuckling. "No, I just empathize with him. My mom... she committed suicide when I was a teenager. It's hard not to see his pain and not relate it back to my own."

Vincent nodded, his expression somber. "I'm sorry."

Leah waved off his apology with a smile. "Don't be sorry. I hate talking about it. I'm sorry I even brought it up."

Vincent shook his head. "It's okay. I appreciate glimpses into your world."

"What about you?" Leah inquired. "Any kids? Deceased parents? Any skeletons you want to share?"

"No kids that I know of. My mother is a publisher and very much alive. At least she was an hour ago," Vincent quipped.

"So that's who you were talking to. Sounded intense," Leah teased, referring to Vincent's animated phone call earlier.

Vincent chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Do you suddenly speak French?"

Leah shook her head, grinning. "Her tone was very motherly. She's quite loud."

"She can be nosy, but I always answer her calls. She keeps her distance," Vincent explained, blinking and clearing his throat.

"And your dad?" Leah probed. "Is he as nosy as your mom?"

"I wouldn't know," Vincent shrugged, meeting her gaze. "I've never met him."

Leah, suddenly embarrassed, felt the smallness and intimacy of the space they shared, shook her head, a tumble of apologies fell from her lips.

“It’s fine. Really.” Vincent reassured her, his hand reached out to pat her hand.

“Really put my foot in my mouth with that one.” She admitted with a nervous laugh.

“Is your dad alive?” Vincent asked, opening up the space to dive deeper.

“Unfortunately so,” Leah sighed, “at least he was the last time I checked.”

Leah grabbed her glass of wine sitting between the heap of legal papers on the coffee table, sipping generously from it.

“Long story.” Leah sighed and looked away from Vincent.

“I have time.” He said with a gentle smile.

_________________________________________

“Is it still awkward?” Kate's voice echoed from the phone resting on the kitchen table as Leah paced around the empty kitchen.

“No,” Leah admitted, “I mean, there have been a few incidents, but overall, it's not awkward.”

“Ooooh,” Kate quipped, “tell me more.”

Leah, her cheeks growing warmer with each passing moment as the memory replayed in her mind, sighed, “He was supposed to be out late for dinner with mom, so I decided to relax in the tub. The apartment was eerily quiet, and he just walked right into the bathroom while I was sprawled out like a stranded orca in the tub. We both just stared at each other, frozen in place, until he slammed the door and bolted. I wanted to waterboard myself!”

Kate burst into laughter as Leah covered her eyes.

“He kept apologizing profusely, and I begged him to pretend it never happened!” Leah rubbed her face and let out a sigh.

“There was also the time I peeled off my sweatshirt in the middle of the night and dozed off with a flimsy tank top on. I'm sure he got an eyeful then, but he was respectful about it. Unlike the time I woke up to find him in the kitchen, in his briefs, frying eggs, and it was staring at me, and I was staring at it. I had to step outside onto the balcony and pretend to admire the weather while I regained control.”

Kate, once again amused, cackled from her end of the call.

“Jesus Christ, Leah,” she exclaimed, “just fuck him already!”

Leah huffed and shook her head, “I highly doubt that will happen, Kate.”

“Nice people fuck every day, Leah,” Kate persisted.

“Maybe so, but not in this house,” Leah remained resolute. “Besides, he's kind. He went out and bought some apples when I mentioned that I like to snack on them in the middle of the night. I woke up one morning, and there was a bowl of them on the kitchen table.”

“You like him,” Kate remarked, her smile evident in her voice.

“As a roommate, yes,” Leah replied.

“I can picture you standing there, nervously biting your cuticles, pacing back and forth. You must be blushing like a dozen different shades of pink,” Kate teased, sensing Leah's inner turmoil.

“I told him about my mom last night,” Leah confessed softly, “and my dad and Charlotte.”

“Ah, yes, daddy and step-mother dearest,” Kate joked, “Eddie and Betty Machete. That's quite a load of baggage to unload on him.”

Leah shrugged, “He asked, and I told him. I'm pretty sure Charlotte isn't the first person to fuck and marry her best friend's husband. Ex-husband? It's still unsettling to me after all these years.”

“Did he share any juicy details with you?” Kate inquired.

“His mom had a fling in Ireland in the eighties and came back with him as a souvenir. He's never met his father,” Leah revealed.

“See, you've trauma bonded. Just make a move on him already!” Kate laughed.

“You're crazy. I have to go,” Leah playfully rolled her eyes.

“Don't call me back until you've fucked him!” Kate yelled out as Leah hung up.

_________________________________________

Leah was certain that Vincent was in love with Sandra. She had sensed it the first time she saw them together in Sandra's chalet kitchen. Vincent was making pasta, soothing her with soft coos as she cried over the triviality of Parmesan cheese. The day's drama had reached its peak as she sobbed into the open refrigerator door. It had seemed puzzling at that moment, but after spending so much time with Vincent and picking up on his little nuances, Leah was convinced. This realization became even clearer as she watched Sandra recount her meeting with Samuel through the camcorder's flipped screen.

"He was... he was one of the few people I knew who could change the atmosphere in a room just by walking in. I suppose that's what charm is, isn't it? I fell in love with his charm," Sandra said, reflecting on her feelings.

She spoke of not feeling understood by her family or friends growing up, of feeling truly seen only when Samuel came into her life. She longed for a time when that connection still existed, reminiscing on what was lost. Leah felt a deep resonance with Sandra's words, hanging on to every syllable as if Sandra was guiding her on a precarious tightrope, with the ground beneath widening, threatening to swallow her whole.

Vincent's lighter pinged from his seat near the window. Leah observed him lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke out the open window.

"Don't say it's gone," Vincent urged Sandra, prompting her to share how she and Samuel first met. She briefly recounted how he had landed a job at a London university and how they had moved there together. She praised his teaching skills and his ability to make everything vibrant and accessible. However, despite all this, Samuel longed for more, as people naturally do. It seemed as though he had chased his dreams straight out the window. Sandra contrasted her own ease with writing to his struggles with time management when working on his novel. Then, she recounted Daniel's accident in vivid detail.

Nour nodded along as Vincent offered suggestions, while Leah sat motionless, pondering whether everyone had a defining crisis in their life that altered them forever.

During a brief respite, Leah stepped outside for a breath of fresh Alpine air. The cold bit at her cheeks, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the indoors. She was soon joined by Sandra, who, in a rare moment of vulnerability outside of what Vincent had requested from her for the sake of the case, offered Leah a cigarette. The two women, standing side by side against the backdrop of snow and solitude, shared a silence that spoke volumes.

It was Sandra who broke the quiet, her voice tinged with a mix of resignation and defiance. "You remind me of a cat, you know. A black cat—slinky, chic, and a bit intimidating. But ultimately harmless." Her comparison, unexpected yet oddly accurate, drew a surprised laugh from Leah, the tension between them easing.

Leah took a slow drag, considering Sandra's words. "A black cat, huh? I'll take that as a compliment, I suppose. They're survivors, after all."

Sandra's lips quirked into a semblance of a smile, a glimmer of the woman she might have been before tragedy had taken its toll. "Survivors, yes. But they're also misunderstood. Feared for no reason other than superstition."

The conversation, meandering between confessions and observations, offered Leah a glimpse into Sandra's soul—her fears, her regrets, and her defiant hope for vindication. For Sandra, the moment provided a rare connection, a sense of being seen beyond the accusations and the public persona crafted by the media and the court.

As they stamped out their cigarettes and turned to head back inside, the brief camaraderie forged in the Alpine chill left a mark on both of them.

_________________________________________

It was Vincent who suggested that Leah ride back to Paris with Nour before it got too late. He wanted to have a private conversation with Sandra, and although Leah felt a tug in her chest and her internal monologue firing on all cylinders, she didn't resist much. "Attorney-client privileges," she told herself, even though she couldn't recall ever sharing a drink or personal history with the people she had represented.

Nour chattered about the case for most of the journey back, while Leah tried her best to engage in the conversation. However, it was evident that something was amiss. Leah couldn't quite pinpoint what it was or why she felt the way she did.

The apartment was dimly lit when Leah returned, with only a few rays of light streaming through the kitchen window, casting a stripe across the living room. She quickly shed the day away by washing her face and changing into an old collegiate sweatshirt before settling on the couch with a glass of Chablis to unwind. As she slowly drained the bottle of Chablis, she reflected on the weeks spent with Vincent and Sandra. Their dynamic became increasingly clear in her mind, stirring a jealousy within Leah that she had only experienced as a teenager caught in the turmoil of an unfaithful father and an emotionally unstable mother years ago.

"Ancient history," Vincent's words echoed in Leah's thoughts.

As she drifted off to sleep, the last thought on Leah's mind was what was truly unfolding in Sandra's home and why it was affecting her so deeply.

________________________________________

Leah, never a heavy sleeper, was immediately awoken by the sound of the front door opening and closing. Despite Vincent's attempts to be quiet, his efforts were useless. Slowly sitting up on the couch, she switched on the tableside lamp as the bathroom sink began to run. A few moments later, Vincent emerged in the living room, offering her an apologetic smile as he observed her rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Can I ask you a question?" Leah asked, to which Vincent nodded in response.

"What's the dynamic between you and Sandra?" Leah shifted on the couch, observing as Vincent's eyebrows arched upwards in surprise.

"What are you talking about?" Vincent questioned, tilting his head. "I'm her lawyer."

"I'm not stupid, Vincent." For some reason, Leah felt compelled to delve deeper. "You paid her for bail."

Vincent, confused by Leah's sudden change in tone and line of questioning, gave her a quizzical look. "Only a portion of it."

Displeased with his response, Leah shook her head. "I wouldn't go to such lengths for a client."

"She's a friend," Vincent explained.

"‘Ancient history,’” Leah echoed his words back at him. “You don’t describe a friend as ‘ancient history.’”

“What's the matter? Why does it concern you?” Vincent inquired, slightly puzzled, moving closer to where she was seated on the couch.

"It just struck me earlier as I reflected on the past few weeks that something hasn't felt right, like I'm on the outside looking in. But then I saw the way you looked at her earlier. And then it hit me," Leah said, casting a heavy glance at Vincent.

"What hit you? What are you trying to say?" Vincent asked, running a hand through his hair.

"Are you defending her because you genuinely believe she's innocent, or because your feelings for her have clouded your judgment?" Leah questioned.

"I'm standing up for her because she's my friend, Leah. Because I believe in her innocence," Vincent explained.

A bitter laugh escaped Leah. "Friendship can blind us, Vincent. We're trained to read people as lawyers, but sometimes the truth is staring us in the face."

Leah shook her head incredulously. "And you sent me down the mountain with Nour. Usually, you want me right there with you, just to have another perspective."

Vincent's eyes widened in disbelief. "Leah, what is this really about?"

Leah's tone turned sharp. “If there's something between you and her, I need to know. I want to trust your judgment, not your feelings."

Vincent shook his head, frustration evident. He pushed his hair back, a mix of emotions crossing his face.

Leah's voice softened, yet held a steely edge. "Did you fuck her tonight? Was that why you sent me home early?"

"What if I did?" Vincent retorted, noticing the jealousy etched on Leah's face. "How would that concern you?"

Leah stood up abruptly, tossing aside the blanket on the couch as she stormed past Vincent and into the bedroom.

"Enough of this," Leah exclaimed as she rummaged through her suitcase. "I refuse to be a part of this. It's unprofessional, and I want no part in it. You can do as you please, but I'm leaving."

She hastily slipped into a pair of jeans while Vincent observed her from the hallway. Brushing past him again, she retrieved her belongings from the bathroom.

"What are you doing?" Vincent inquired, looking puzzled.

"I'm leaving," she replied, stuffing her suitcase full.

"Where will you go?" he asked.

"To a hotel, maybe a hostel," Leah replied, pulling the sweatshirt over her head and tossing it into the suitcase, leaving her in a thin tank top. "I don't know."

Vincent approached her as she struggled to close and zip her overflowing suitcase, its contents spilling out haphazardly as she packed in a frenzy.

"What's gotten into you?" he questioned. "What's all this about?"

"I don't know, I just—" Leah paused, meeting his gaze, her eyes searching his face. "It hit me today that you're so blindly in love with her that if she had pushed Samuel out the window in front of you, you'd defend her to the end."

He grasped her shoulders, drawing her closer as he looked into her eyes intently.

"Do you want me to fuck you? Is that what this is about?" he asked, his expression serious despite the taboo nature of his question.

"That's exactly it," Vincent shook his head as he spoke. With nimble fingers, he swiftly unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans.

"Say it," he paused, looking up at her. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you to look at me like that," Leah confessed. Despite her uncertainty, she let her emotions guide her, baring her soul to the man before her.

"I do," Vincent murmured, drawing her closer. "I have. I am."

Taglist: @weakling-grace

#the verdict #anatomy of a fall vincent #vincent renzi fanfiction #maitre vincent renzi #vincent renzi x original female character #swann arlaud #vincent renzi

[rxgirlie]

The Verdict- Chapter Two

Pairing: Vincent Renzi x OFC

Warnings: mentions of death, awkward OC, it’s pretty mild at this point. if you’ve seen Anatomy of a Fall, you basically know what’s about to happen.

A/N: if you’re back for chapter two, welcome back. Swann Arlaud at the Oscars actually recoded my DNA. imagine writing 11 whole chapters and then literally going back and completely re-writing them- that’s what I’ve been doing with this story. I won’t be following along word for word with the plot of the movie, nor will I be recounting everything perfectly. I tried that (I’ve watched Anatomy literally 4 times to the point that I actually dreamt in French one night) also huge shoutout to my friend @luxlisbons for her support and a huge shoutout to the dictionary and thesaurus that have basically become my Bible. also if you want to be tagged when I post the upcoming chapters, just let me know.

Vincent glanced across the office space to find Leah seated on the floor, surrounded by a chaotic array of case files. She appeared lost in thought, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"You're quiet," Vincent remarked, making his way over to her.

Leah looked up, a hint of frustration evident in her eyes. "Would be nice if I could speak French. It's taking double the time when I have to translate all this."

Vincent reached out and took the report from her hands, flipping it over to reveal a series of photos on the back. "There are pictures on the back, you know?" he pointed out. "This autopsy report is inconclusive at this point. He supposedly fell from the third floor window."

Leah, feeling a glimmer of hope, asked, "Have you interviewed her yet?"

Vincent nodded. "I went to see her the day before you arrived."

"And?" Leah inquired, hoping for a breakthrough.

Vincent's expression remained somber. "A man is dead," he stated matter-of-factly. "Was that lost in translation?"

Leah shook her head, the weight of the case pressing down on her shoulders. She returned to the pile of files before her, determined to unravel the mystery that lay within.

________________________________________

“Do you eat?” Vincent’s voice rang out, startling Leah from her place on the floor. She chuckled, her concentration finally broken after hours of sifting through each piece of evidence Vincent had presented her with.

“Sometimes I do,” she joked, standing to stretch, her shirt riding up enough for Vincent to see a stripe of her stomach.

“Do you plan on eating today?” Vincent asked, perplexed by how she must be running on fumes considering the time she had spent unmoving.

Leah’s eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. “Probably should,” she sighed. “I’m starving.”

With a grin, Vincent guided her to a cafe across the road and down the street. Over a course of croque monsieur and a few cups of coffee, the two lawyers exchanged glances and subtle smiles.

“You’re quiet again,” Vincent's voice broke through the silence, his eyes studying Leah's thoughtful expression as she gazed out the window.

Leah’s lips curved into a small smile. “Sorry,” she said, her fingers absently tapping on the table.

“Lost in translation again?” he joked, a playful glint in his eyes.

Leah shook her head, her gaze returning to meet his. “No, just lost in general. Jet-lagged,” she admitted with a tired laugh.

“So, you passed the Bar on your first try?” Vincent asked, leaning back in his chair, his curiosity evident.

Leah nodded, a proud glint in her eyes. “I did, yeah,” she replied, a hint of satisfaction in her voice. “How does that work here? What’s the process of becoming a lawyer?”

“Law students sit for the Bar exam at the end of a Master's degree,” Vincent explained, gesturing with his hands to emphasize his point.

Leah nodded thoughtfully, absorbing the information. “So we’re not that different,” she mused, a small smile playing on her lips.

Vincent chuckled softly. “As far as having things in common, you and I have both passed the Bar exam, yes,” he agreed.

Leah shifted in her seat, fidgeting with a napkin. “I’m not good at this,” she gestured between the two of them, “talking about myself.”

Vincent’s laughter filled the air between them. “That’s okay,” he reassured her with a nod.

Suddenly, the cafe grew busier, the hum of conversation surrounding them. Vincent noticed the change and turned his attention back to Leah.

“Where are you staying?” he asked, his tone gentle and curious.

Leah met his gaze, a hint of gratitude in her eyes. “Uh, Saint Germain?” she replied, blushing embarrassingly at her American way of pronouncing the name.

Vincent nodded, his expression unchanging. “Do you want me to walk you home so you can get some sleep?” he offered, his sincerity evident.

Leah's eyes widened in surprise, touched by his kindness. “You don’t mind?” she asked, a softness in her voice.

Vincent shook his head, “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to,” he said, his eyes meeting hers with warmth and understanding.

________________________________________

Leah glanced at the phone resting on the bed amidst a pile of discarded shirts, her brow furrowed. "It’s awkward," she began, her voice tinged with uncertainty, "I mean, it's not a language barrier issue because he speaks English well. But yesterday at lunch, he was trying to make conversation, and I was completely lost in my own thoughts. The whole interaction felt off, and now I have to endure hours in a car with him to go meet the defendant and her son in the middle of nowhere."

A voice emanated from the phone, cutting through Leah's musings. "Maybe it's just your awkward charm," it teased, provoking a scoff from Leah. "I'm not awkward, Kate. I'm just observant. There's a lot to be learned by listening, you know?"

As Leah slipped into a long-sleeved top and checked her reflection in the mirror behind the bedroom door, she heard Kate's next question. "Is he good looking?" Leah chuckled softly, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Yes, he is."

Kate's curiosity didn't stop there. "Do you think she's guilty?" Leah pondered the question, her gaze drifting to the phone in her hand as she mulled over the case details. "I'm not certain," she replied thoughtfully, "but given my track record with men, it's hard to distinguish between genuine intentions and hidden motives."

The abrupt sound of the doorbell pierced through the apartment, causing Leah to startle. "And now he's here to pick me up," she muttered, a mix of anticipation and apprehension swirling in her gut. "I'll fill you in on everything tomorrow," she promised before ending the call.

_________________________________________

The journey from the vibrant heart of Paris to the serene, imposing presence of the French Alps served as a physical and metaphorical transition for Vincent and Leah. As they navigated the winding mountain roads, Leah's gaze was drawn to the changing landscape, her mind a whirlwind of anticipation and uncertainty about the case and her role in it.

Vincent, for his part, found his attention intermittently captured by Leah when he allowed himself to take the seat of the neutral observer—her dark brown hair reflecting the sunlight, her compact, curvy figure a stark contrast to the sprawling, rugged beauty outside the car window. It was an awareness he couldn't quite shake, an acknowledgment of her beauty and the energy she brought into his carefully structured world. Leah, for her part, glanced at Vincent as her eyes roamed across the changing scenery around them, letting them dart across his side profile, the slope of his nose, the lines etched around his distinctive eyes.

The time they had spent together had been consumed by meticulous details regarding the case and its sordid details, not allowing any time for pleasantries outside of what Leah’s resume held, and what little information she was able to gather about Vincent from a rigorous google search. Besides the conversation the day prior in the cafe, they were still relatively strangers to one another.

Arriving at Sandra's secluded home, they were greeted by a scene of tranquil isolation, the peace of the valley juxtaposed with the storm brewing within its inhabitants. Sandra, with her guarded demeanor and measured greetings, presented a figure of resilience, her German accent marking her words with precision as she navigated the conversation in her adopted language.

Leah's interaction with Daniel, Sandra's son, and the family dog, Snoop, was most shocking to Vincent. Leah's gentle, unassuming approach won Daniel over, her laughter and warmth cutting through the reserve that had initially greeted them. Vincent observed these interactions with a growing appreciation for Leah's natural empathy and the ease with which she connected with Sandra and Daniel, despite the shadows that hung over the household.

The discussion of the case took on a new dimension as Leah's presence seemed to soften the edges of the tense atmosphere. Her insights into the case brought fresh perspectives that even Vincent had to acknowledge were invaluable. Yet, it wasn't just her professional contributions that caught his attention; it was the way the alpine light danced in her hazel eyes, the genuine concern etched on her porcelain skin, and the graceful way she moved through space.

As the day wore on, Vincent found himself increasingly aware of Leah—not just as a colleague but as a woman who intrigued him.

The visit to Sandra's home, intended to deepen their understanding of the case, ended up opening up a dialogue into one another’s thought processes. The sum of which came to fruition as the moonlight illuminated sharply against the car’s hood.

Vincent's voice cut through the silence inside the car, breaking the rhythm of the road beneath them. "Who are you exactly?" he inquired, stealing a quick glance in her direction before refocusing on the winding path ahead. A puzzled expression settled upon her face as she met his gaze, her features momentarily frozen in confusion.

A soft, genuine laugh bubbled from her lips. "What?" she responded, the musical lilt of her voice betraying her confusion at his question.

"They were hanging on your every word back there," Vincent remarked, a hint of amusement in his tone. "Sandra's a tough nut to crack, but you seemed to have opened her up a little."

"I could barely get a word out of you yesterday," Vincent added with a chuckle, his eyes back on the road.

"Sandra," Leah began, her voice taking on a more serious tone as she turned to face him, "How do you know her?"

Vincent's reply was brief, a pause punctuating his words. "Old friends. Ancient history."

A thoughtful expression crossed Leah’s face as she considered his response. "You know what they say about history?" she mused, her gaze steady as Vincent fell silent.

Vincent's brows furrowed slightly. "What do you know about ancient history?" he countered, a smirk playing on his lips.

"That it has a way of repeating itself," Leah responded cryptically, her words hanging in the air like a lingering mystery.

Vincent's laughter filled the car, mingling with the hum of the engine. "For someone who's usually so quiet, you seem to have a lot of insight into things you claim not to know," he observed, his eyes glinting with a newfound curiosity.

As doubt crept into Leah’s mind, she pondered the implications of her words and the connection between ancient history and the present moment. Little did she know that the echoes of the past were about to resurface in ways she could never have foreseen.

#vincent renzi fanfiction #vincent renzi x original female character #anatomy of a fall vincent #vincent renzi #vincent renzi fic #hot lawyer save me #the verdict #swann arlaud

[mx-pastelwriting]

𝙑𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙍𝙚𝙣𝙯𝙞 (𝘼𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙢𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙖 𝙁𝙖𝙡𝙡) 𝙂𝙞𝙛 𝙋𝙖𝙘𝙠 #16

Vincent Renzi in Anatomy of a Fall (2023) Actor Swann Arlaud

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